EX  UBKGMVERSIiYOF  CALIFORNIA 


JOHN  HENRY  NASH  LIBRARY 

<§>  SAN  FRANCISCO 

PRESENTED  TO  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

ROBERT  GORDON  SPROUL,  PRESIDENT. 


MR.ANDMRS.MILTON  S.RAV 

CECILY,  VIRGINIA  AND  ROSALYN  RAY 

AND  THE 

RAY  OIL  BURNER  COMPANY 


THIRTY'HVE  J  SONNETS  BY 

GEORGE  ^  STERLING 

PUBLISH  JED  BY 

THE  Jj?  BOOK 

CL    UB 

O|F 

CALIFlloRNIA 


Copyright,  1917,  by  George  Sterling 


IN  EXTREMIS 

TILL  DAWN  THE  WINDS'  IN. 
SUPERABLE  THRONG 
PASSED  OVER  LIKE  ARCH- 
ANGELS  IN  THEIR  MIGHT' 
WITH  ROAR  OF  CHARIOTS 
FROM  THEIR  STORMY 
HEIGHT' 

AND  BROKEN  THUNDER  OF 
MYSTERIOUS  SONG^ 
BY  MARINER  OR  SENTRY 
HEARD  ALONG 
THE  STAR'USURPING  BAT' 
TLEMENTS  OF  NIGHT^. 
AND  WAFTURE  OF  IM' 
MEASURABLE  FLIGHT' 
AND  HIGH-BLOWN  TRUM' 
PETS  MUTINOUS  6?  STRONG 


Till  louder  on  the  dreadful  dark  I  heard 
The  shrieking  of  the  tempest'tortured  tree, 
And  deeper  on  immensity  the  call 
And  tumult  of  the  empire'forging  sea; 
But  near  the  eternal  Peace  I  lay,  nor  stirred, 
Knowing  the  happy  dead  hear  not  at  all. 


ROMANCE 

Thou  passest,  and  we  know  thee  not,  Romance! 
Thy  gase  is  backward,  and  thy  heart  is  fed 
With  murmurs  and  with  music  of  the  dead. 
Alas,  our  battle!  for  the  rays  that  glance 
On  thy  dethroning  sword  and  haughty  lance 
Are  of  forgotten  suns  and  stars  long  fled; 
Thou  weavest  phantom  roses  for  thy  head, 
And  ghostly  queens  in  thy  dominion  dance. 

Would  we  might  follow  thy  returning  wings, 
And  in  thy  farthest  haven  beach  our  prow— 
Thy  dragons  conquered  and  thine  oceans  crossed 
And  find  thee  standing  on  the  dust  of  kings, 
A  lion  at  thy  side,  and  on  thy  brow 
The  light  of  sunsets  wonderful  and  lost! 


A  MOOD 

I  am  grown  weary  of  permitted  things 
And  weary  of  the  care^emburdened  age  — 
Of  any  dusty  lore  of  priest  and  sage 
To  which  no  memory  of  Arcadia  clings; 
For  subtly  in  my  blood  at  evening  sings 
A  madness  of  the  faun— a  choric  rage 
That  makes  all  earth  and  sky  seem  but  a  cage 
In  which  the  spirit  pines  with  cheated  wings. 

Rather  by  dusk  for  Lilith  would  I  wait 
And  for  a  moment's  rapture  welcome  death, 
Knowing  that  I  had  baffled  Time  and  Fate, 
And  feeling  on  my  lips,  that  died  with  day 
As  sense  and  soul  were  gathered  to  a  breath, 
The  immortal,  deadly  lips  that  kissing  slay. 


MEMORY 

She  stands  beside  the  ocean  of  the  Past, 
A  diver.  Pearls  and  hydras  can  she  bring, 
Shells  for  the  child  and  crystals  for  the  king. 
Prone  on  her  reefs  the  sea^assaying  mast 
And  keels  that  dared  the  hurricane  are  cast— 
Trophies  of  tides  invincible  that  swing 
Around  the  islands  where  the  sirens  sing, 
The  magic  of  whose  song  is  hers  at  last. 

Some  shadow  of  the  glory  she  restores, 

Tho  wave  and  wind  devour  the  Ships  of  Dream; 

For  many  mark  her  ere  the  fall  of  night, 

When  the  surf's  sound  is  mighty  on  her  shores, 

Singing,  as  wildly  on  her  bosom  gleam 

The  sea'dews,  and  the  rubies  of  the  light. 


THE  BLACK  VULTURE 

Aloof  upon  the  day's  unmeasured  dome, 
He  holds  unshared  the  silence  of  the  sky. 
Far  down  his  bleak,  relentless  eyes  descry 
The  eagle's  empire  and  the  falcon's  home— 
Far  down,  the  galleons  of  sunset  roam; 
His  hazards  on  the  sea  of  morning  lie; 
Serene,  he  hears  the  broken  tempest  sigh 
Where  cold  sierras  gleam  like  scattered  foam. 

And  least  of  all  he  holds  the  human  swarm— 
Unwitting  now  that  envious  men  prepare 
To  make  their  dream  and  its  fulfilment  one, 
When,  poised  above  the  caldrons  of  the  storm, 
Their  hearts,  contemptuous  of  death,  shall  dare 
His  roads  between  the  thunder  and  the  sun. 


8 


THE  MUSE  OF  THE  INCOMMUNICABLE 

An  echo  often  have  our  singers  caught, 
And  they  that  bend  above  the  saddened  strings; 
One  hue  of  all  the  hundred  on  her  wings 
Our  painters  render,  and  our  men  of  thought 
In  realms  mysterious  her  face  have  sought 
And  glimpsed  its  marvel  in  elusive  things. 
Her  fragrance  gathers  and  her  shadow  clings 
To  all  the  loveliness  that  man  hath  wrought. 

The  wind  of  lonely  places  is  her  wine. 
Still  she  eludes  us,  hidden,  husht  and  fleet, 
A  star  withdrawn,  a  music  in  the  gloom. 
Beauty  and  death  her  speechless  lips  assign, 
Where  silence  is,  and  where  the  surf-loud  feet 
Of  armies  wander  on  the  sands  of  doom. 


AT  THE  GRAND  CANON 

Thou  settest  splendors  in  my  sight,  O  Lord! 
It  seems  as  tho  a  deep'hued  sunset  falls 
Forever  on  these  Cyclopean  walls,  — 
These  battlements  where  Titan  hosts  have  warred, 
And  hewn  the  world  with  devastating  sword, 
And  shook  with  trumpets  the  eternal  halls 
Where  seraphim  lay  hid  by  bloody  palls 
And  only  Hell  and  Silence  were  adored. 

Lo!  the  abyss  wherein  great  Satan's  wings 
Might  gender  tempests,  and  his  dragons1  breath 
Fume  up  in  pestilence.   Beneath  the  sun 
Or  starry  outposts  on  terrestrial  things, 
Is  no  such  testimony  unto  Death 
Nor  altars  builded  to  Oblivion. 


10 


SONNETS  ON  OBLIVION 

Oblivion 

The  Dust  Dethroned 
The  Night  of  Gods 


OBLIVION 

Her  eyes  have  seen  the  monoliths  of  kings 
Upcast  like  foam  of  the  effacing  tide; 
She  hath  beheld  the  desert  stars  deride 
The  monuments  of  Power's  imaginings; 
About  their  base  the  wind  Assyrian  flings 
The  dust  that  throned  the  satrap  in  his  pride; 
Cambyses  and  the  Memphian  pomps  abide 
As  in  the  flame  the  moth's  presumptuous  wings. 

There  gleams  no  glory  that  her  hand  shall  spare, 
Nor  any  sun  whose  rays  shall  cross  her  night, 
Whose  realm  enfolds  man's  empire  and  its  end. 
No  armor  of  renown  her  sword  shall  dare, 
No  council  of  the  gods  withstand  her  might: 
Stricken  at  last  Time's  lonely  Titans  bend. 


THE  DUST  DETHRONED 

Sargon  is  dust,  Semiramis  a  clod ! 
In  crypts  profaned  the  moon  at  midnight  peers; 
The  owl  upon  the  Sphinx  hoots  in  her  ears, 
And  scant  and  sear  the  desert  grasses  nod 
Where  once  the  armies  of  Assyria  trod, 
With  younger  sunlight  splendid  on  the  spears; 
The  lichens  cling  the  closer  with  the  years, 
And  seal  the  eyelids  of  the  weary  god. 

Where  high  the  tombs  of  royal  Egypt  heave, 
The  vulture  shadows  with  arrested  wings 
The  indecipherable  boasts  of  kings, 
As  Arab  children  hear  their  mother's  cry 
And  leave  in  mockery  their  toy —they  leave 
The  skull  of  Pharaoh  staring  at  the  sky. 


THE  NIGHT  OF  GODS 

Their  mouths  have  drunken  the  eternal  wine- 
The  draught  that  Baal  in  oblivion  sips. 
Unseen  about  their  courts  the  adder  slips, 
Unheard  the  sucklings  of  the  leopard  whine; 
The  toad  has  found  a  resting-place  divine 
And  bloats  in  stupor  between  Ammons  lips. 

0  Carthage  and  the  unreturning  ships, 
The  fallen  pinnacle,  the  shifting  Sign! 

Lo!  when  I  hear  from  voiceless  court  and  fane 

Time's  adoration  of  Eternity  — 

The  cry  of  kingdoms  past  and  gods  undone— 

1  stand  as  one  whose  feet  at  noontide  gain 
A  lonely  shore;  who  feels  his  soul  set  free, 
And  hears  the  blind  sea  chanting  to  the  sun. 


SONNETS  ON  SLEEP 

I  -  II  /  III 


I 

Upon  the  skies  of  slumber  dreams  have  flight, 
And  one  from  gentlest  dreams  may  wake  to  weep. 
The  dark  has  moons  to  sway  its  utmost  deep, 
And  stars  that  touch  the  sleeper  from  their  height. 
Ere  long,  tho  mute  and  liberative  Night 
Thy  soul  and  sorrow  in  her  poppy  steep, 
Her  flowers  the  sickle  of  the  dawn  shall  reap, 
In  melancholy  meadows  of  the  light. 

In  vain  are  Lethe's  dews  upon  the  brow, 

Except  one  find  them  on  its  farther  shore; 

And  he  alone  has  enviable  rest 

Who  sought  for  peace  through  many  tears,  and  now 

Whose  answered  heart  a  rose  is  richer  for, 

In  some  old  graveyard  where  the  robins  nest. 


II 


Life  holds  a  different  pact  with  every  man, 
Tho  to  one  sea  her  many  streams  descend. 
To  some  she  stands  a  foe,  to  some  a  friend, 
Devising  each  her  benison  or  ban; 
And  one  is  saint,  and  one  is  courtesan; 
One  labors,  one  is  idle  to  the  end. 
Of  all  her  children  none  shall  comprehend 
Whether  she  strive  in  madness  or  with  plan. 

But  Death  has  one  condition  for  us  all, 
And  he  that  in  the  pyramid's  deep  core 
Lies  with  the  graven  adamant  for  pall, 
In  no  profounder  pit  of  silence  sleeps 
Than  he  who  has  his  grave  by  some  low  shore 
To  which  the  thunder-bosomed  ocean  sweeps. 


HI 

Death  has  the  final  answer  to  our  cry, 
And  past  our  portals  of  unrest  awaits 
Responsive  to  our  question  of  the  Fates; 
And  he  who  would  attain  that  deep  reply 
Must  seal  his  ears  to  other  sounds,  and  die. 
What  wonder,  if  before  the  midnight  gates 
The  searcher  of  the  riddle  hesitates, 
Uncertain  what  those  ashen  lips  deny? 

What  if  the  hearer  with  the  pleader  cease, 
And  thus  the  timeless  answer  come  unheard? 
So  he  that  sought  for  truth  should  find  it  peace, 
In  those  long  silences  where  none  could  hark 
The  mighty,  indecipherable  Word 
That  fell  unfathomed  on  the  eternal  dark. 


THE  THIRST  OF  SATAN 

In  dream  I  saw  the  starry  disarray 
(That  battle-dust  of  matter's  endless  war) 
Astir  with  some  huge  passing,  and  afar 
Beheld  the  troubled  constellations  sway 
In  winds  of  insurrection  and  dismay, 
Till,  from  that  magnitude  whose  ages  are 
But  moments  in  the  cycle  of  the  star, 
There  swept  a  Shadow  on  our  ghost  of  day— 

A  Shape  that  clutched  the  deviating  earth 

And  checked  its  headlong  flight  and  held  it  fast, 

^^^f 

Draining  the  bitter  oceans  one  by  one. 
Then,  to  the  laughter  of  infernal  mirth, 
The  ruined  chalice  droned  athwart  the  Vast, 
Hurled  in  the  face  of  the  offended  sun. 


RESPITE 

Noon  has  her  drowsy  kingdom  in  the  sky. 
The  valley  holds  forever,  like  a  shell, 
An  ocean-murmur,  and  about  my  dell 
The  pines  wait  dreaming,  too  content  to  sigh. 
Silence  has  half  her  will,  nor  would  I  try 
Another's:  here  a  waif  unsought  I  dwell 
On  whom  a  rainbow-land  has  laid  her  spell,  — 
In  whom  recorded  memories  fade  or  die. 

Linger,  O  day!  for  at  thy  heart  is  peace; 
Thine  asure  holds  no  question;  ere  thou  cease, 
To  be  and  to  be  glad  is  to  have  done. 
Pause  in  the  breathless  temple  of  thy  noon, 
Ere  yet  I  drink  enchantment  from  the  moon 
And  watch  love's  star  above  the  sunken  sun! 


24 


THAT  WALK  IN  DARKNESS 

Not  when  the  sun  is  captain  of  the  skies, 
Nor  when  the  sapphire'dwelling  moon  divine 
Arrows  with  light  the  battlements  of  pine, 
Roams  Lilith,  she  whom  raptures  have  made  wise; 
But  one  shall  see  her  with  enchanted  eyes 
When  starlight  makes  mysterious  her  shrine, 
That  whoso  drinks  her  beauty's  golden  wine 
Shall  lose  his  hope  and  need  of  Paradise. 

And  tho  the  cruel  vision  smite  him  blind, 
Yet  more  than  they  who  mourn  him  is  he  whole 
On  whom  her  sorceries  have  burst  in  flood,— 
To  whom  her  lips  are  offered,  that  he  find 
Her  kiss  a  consternation  to  the  soul 
And  scarlet  trumpets  pealing  in  the  blood. 


INDIAN  SUMMER 

Come  with  me  to  some  woodland  where  the  chill 
Of  autumn  stirs  with  ecstasy  the  day, 
Or  where  the  tranquil  edges  of  a  bay 
Shoal  to  untroubled  turquoise,  pure  and  still; 
There  let  immortal  Beauty  have  her  will 
In  that  hushed  temple  of  the  year's  delay, 
Crowning  thy  heavens  with  her  holy  ray, 
While  the  heart  leaps  and  eyes  unbidden  fill. 

Assent  thou  not  unto  the  year's  "Alas!" 

Tho  all  that  is  depart  and  leave  no  trace. 

Suffice  it,  ere  the  lonely  vision  pass, 

That  Loveliness  be  given  for  a  space, 

When,  set  with  stars,  the  soul's  deep  waters  glass 

The  glory  and  the  sorrow  of  her  face. 


26 


TO  THE  MUMMY  OF  THE  LADY  ISIS 

IN  THE  BOHEMIAN  CLUB 

No  bird  shall  tell  thee  of  the  seasons'  flight: 
Sealed  are  thine  ears  that  now  no  longer  list. 
The  little  veins  of  temple  and  of  wrist 
Are  food  no  more  for  sleepless  love's  delight, 
And  crumbling  in  the  sessions  of  thy  night, 
Pylon  and  sphinx  shall  be  as  fleeting  mist. 
Bitter  with  natron  are  the  lips  that  kissed, 
And  shorn  of  dreams  the  spirit  and  the  sight. 

Ah!  dust  misused!  better  to  feed  the  flowY, 
Than  grace  the  revels  of  an  alien  hour, 
When  babe  or  lord  wake  never  to  caress 
The  bosom  where  unerring  Death  hath  struck 
And  milkless  breasts  that  give  the  ages  suck— 
Stilled  in  the  slumber  that  is  nothingness. 


27 


SONNETS  ON  THE  SEA'S  VOICE 

I  -  II  /  HI -  IV 


Thou  seem'st  to  call  to  that  which  will  not  hear, 
As  man  to  Fate.  Thine  anthems  uncontrolled, 
From  winnowed  sands  and  reefs  reverberant  rolled, 
Shake  as  with  sorrow,  and  the  hour  is  near 
Wherein  thy  voice  shall  seem  a  thing  of  fear, 
Like  to  a  lion's  at  the  trembling  fold; 
And  men  shall  waken  to  the  midnight  cold, 
And  feel  that  dawn  is  far,  that  night  is  drear. 

Thou  wert  ere  Life,  a  dim  but  quenchless  spark, 
Found  vesture  in  thy  vastness.  Thou  shalt  be 
When  Life  hath  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  Dark,— 
When  shackling  ice  hath  soned  at  last  thy  breast, 
And  thy  deep  voice  is  hushed,  O  vanquished  Sea! 
One  with  eternity  that  giveth  rest. 


II 


No  cloud  is  on  the  heavens,  and  on  the  sea 
No  sail:  the  immortal,  solemn  ocean  lies 
Unbroken  sapphire  to  the  walling  skies  — 
Immutable,  supreme  in  majesty. 
The  billows,  where  the  charging  foam  leaps  free, 
Burden  the  winds  with  thunder.  Soul,  arise! 
For  ghostly  trumpet-blasts  and  battle-cries 
Across  the  tumult  wake  the  Past  for  thee. 

They  call  me  to  a  dim,  disastrous  land, 
Where  fallen  marbles  tell  of  mighty  years, 
Heroic  architraves,  but  where  the  gust 
Ripples  forsaken  waters.  Lo!  I  stand 
With  armies  round  about,  and  in  mine  ears 
The  roar  of  harps  reborn  from  legend's  dust. 


HI 


How  very  still  this  odorous,  dim  space 
Amid  the  pines!  The  light  is  reverent, 
Pausing  as  one  who  stands  with  meek  intent 
On  thresholds  of  an  everlasting  place. 
A  single  iris  waits  in  weary  grace— 
Her  countenance  before  the  dawning  bent, 
As  Faith  might  linger,  husht  and  innocent, 
With  all  an  altar's  glory  on  her  face. 

But  silence  now  is  hateful:  I  would  be, 
By  midnight  dark  and  wild  as  Satan's  soul, 
Where  the  winds'  unreturning  charioteers 
Lash,  with  the  hurtling  scourges  of  the  sea, 
Their  frantic  steeds  to  some  tempestuous  goal 
The  deep's  enormous  music  in  their  ears. 


33 


IV 

O  thou  unalterable  sea!  how  vast 
Thine  utterance!  What  portent  in  thy  tone, 
As  here  thy  giant  choirs,  august,  alone, 
Roll  forth  their  diapason  to  the  blast !  — 
Great  waters  hurled  and  broken  and  upcast 
In  timeless  splendour  and  immeasured  moan, 
As  tho  Eternity  to  years  unknown 
Bore  witness  of  the  sorrows  of  the  Past. 

Thou  callest  to  a  deep  within  my  soul  — 
Untraversed  and  unsounded;  at  thy  voice 
Abysses  move  with  phantoms  unbegot. 
What  paeans  haunt  me  and  what  pangs  control ! 
Thunders  wherewith  the  seraphim  rejoice, 
And  mighty  hunger  for  I  know  not  what. 


34 


THE  SKULL  OF  SHAKESPEARE 
I'll 


I 

Without  how  small,  within  how  strangely  vast! 
What  stars  of  terror  had  their  path  in  thee! 
What  music  of  the  heavens  and  the  sea 
Lived  in  a  sigh  or  thundered  on  the  blast! 
Here  swept  the  gleam  and  pageant  of  the  past, 
As  Beauty  trembled  to  her  fate's  decree; 
Here  swords  were  forged  for  armies  yet  to  be, 
And  tears  were  found  too  dreadful  not  to  last. 

Here  stood  the  seats  of  judgment  and  its  light 

To  whose  assizes  all  our  dreams  were  led  — 

Our  best  and  worst,  our  Paradise  and  Hell; 

And  in  this  room  delivered  now  to  night, 

The  mortal  put  its  question  to  the  dead, 

And  worlds  were  weighed,  and  God's  deep  shadow  fell. 


37 


II 


Here  an  immortal  river  had  its  rise, 
Tho  dusty  now  the  fountain  whence  it  ran 
So  swift  and  beautiful  with  good  to  man. 
Here  the  foundation  of  an  empire  lies— 
The  ruins  of  a  realm  seen  not  with  eyes, 
That  now  the  vision  of  a  gnat  could  scan. 
Here  wars  were  fought  within  a  little  span, 
Whose  echoes  yet  resound  on  human  skies. 

Life,  on  her  rainbow  road  from  dust  to  dust, 
Spilt  here  her  wildest  iris,  still  thine  own, 
Master,  and  with  thy  soul  and  ashes  one! 
Thy  wings  are  distant  from  our  years  of  lust, 
Yet  he  who  liveth  not  by  bread  alone 
Shall  see  thee  as  that  angel  in  the  sun. 


SONNETS  OF  THE  NIGHT  SKIES 

Aldebaran  at  Dusk 
The  Chariots  of  Dawn 
The  Huntress  of  Stars 


ALDEBARAN  AT  DUSK 

Thou  art  the  star  for  which  all  evening  waits 
O  star  of  peace,  come  tenderly  and  soon! 
Nor  heed  the  drowsy  and  enchanted  moon, 
Who  dreams  in  silver  at  the  eastern  gates 
Ere  yet  she  brim  with  light  the  blue  estates 
Abandoned  by  the  eagles  of  the  noon; 
But  shine  thou  swiftly  on  the  darkling  dune 
And  woodlands  where  the  twilight  hesitates. 

Above  that  wide  and  ruby  lake  to- West 
Wherein  the  sunset  waits  reluctantly, 
Stir  silently  the  purple  wings  of  Night. 
She  stands  afar,  upholding  to  her  breast, 
As  mighty  murmurs  reach  her  from  the  sea, 
Thy  lone  and  everlasting  rose  of  light. 


THE  CHARIOTS  OF  DAWN 

O  Night,  is  this  indeed  the  morning'Star, 
That  now  with  brandished  and  impatient  beam 
On  eastern  heights  of  darkness  flames  supreme, 
Or  some  great  captain  of  the  dawn,  whose  car 
Scornful  of  all  thy  rearguard  ranks  that  bar 
His  battle,  how  foreruns  the  helms  that  gleam 
Below  horizons  of  dissevering  dream, 
Who  lifts  his  javelin  to  his  hosts  afar? 

Now  am  I  minded  of  some  ocean4dng 

That  in  a  war  of  gods  has  wielded  arms, 

And  still  in  slumber  hears  their  harness  ring 

And  dreams  of  isles  where  golden  altars  fume, 

Till,  mad  for  irretrievable  alarms, 

He  passes  down  the  seas  to  some  strange  doom. 


THE  HUNTRESS  OF  STARS 

Tell  me,  O  Night!  what  horses  hale  the  moon! 
Those  of  the  sun  rear  now  on  Syria's  day, 
But  here  the  steeds  of  Artemis  delay 
At  heavenly  rivers  hidden  from  the  moon, 
Or  quench  their  starry  thirst  at  cisterns  hewn 
In  midnight's  deepest  sapphire,  ere  she  slay 
The  Bull,  and  hide  the  Pleiades'  dismay, 
Or  drown  Orion  in  a  silver  swoon. 

Are  those  the  stars,  and  not  their  furious  eyes, 
That  now  before  her  coming  chariot  glare? 
Is  that  their  nebulous,  phantasmal  breath 
Trailed  like  a  mist  upon  the  winter  skies, 
Or  vapors  from  a  Titan's  pyre  of  death— 
Far'wafted  on  the  orbit  of  Altair? 


43 


THE  COMING  SINGER 

The  Veil  before  the  mystery  of  things 
Shall  stir  for  him  with  iris  and  with  light; 
Chaos  shall  have  no  terror  in  his  sight 
Nor  earth  a  bond  to  chafe  his  urgent  wings; 
With  sandals  beaten  from  the  crowns  of  kings 
Shall  he  tread  down  the  altars  of  their  night, 
And  stand  with  Silence  on  her  breathless  height, 
To  hear  what  song  the  star  of  morning  sings. 

With  perished  beauty  in  his  hands  as  clay, 
Shall  he  restore  futurity  its  dream. 
Behold !  his  feet  shall  take  a  heavenly  way 
Of  choric  silver  and  of  chanting  fire, 
Till  in  his  hands  unshapen  planets  gleam, 
'Mid  murmurs  from  the  Lion  and  the  Lyre. 


45 


TO  MARGARET  ANGLIN 

IN  THE  GREEK  TRAGEDIES 

She  has  heard  mighty  music  from  the  Past, 

And  deathless  trumpets  from  oblivion, 

And  she  has  seen  the  blood  of  heroes  run 

To  stain  the  morning  of  a  day  forecast. 

How  high,  O  Art,  the  ministry  thou  hast! 

Behold!  the  magic  of  thy  chosen  one 

Has  called  their  shades  from  Lethe  to  the  sun, 

And  ghosts  of  gods  from  heavens  that  could  not  last. 

Black  on  the  arras  of  the  years  that  were, 
What  shadows  of  immortal  armies  stir! 
The  stars  conspire,  and  groping  by  their  light, 
Man  seeks  for  joy  and  peace,  nor  knows  what  loom, 
Tireless  by  dusk  or  noon  or  deep  of  night, 
Runs  scarlet  with  the  fabric  of  his  doom. 


46 


TO  ONE  SELF-SLAIN 

The  door  thou  chosest,  gave  it  on  the  night? 

Ever  we  ask  of  whoso  openeth 

If  day  or  darkness  hold  the  seats  of  Death; 

But  if  the  heavy-lidded  dead  have  sight 

Their  mouths  are  loyal  to  that  alien  light: 

Amid  the  Innumerable  no  one  saith 

What  waited  on  the  passing  of  the  breath— 

Spend  not  your  own:  the  grave  will  not  requite. 

Phantoms  and  whispers  reach  us  from  the  dark  — 

Mirages  vain,  mendacities  august 

That  are  but  of  the  living,  not  the  dead. 

Nay!  tho  I  hunger,  I  in  no  wise  hark 

The  fleeting  music  scattered  with  thy  dust, 

Nor  call  thy  shadow  from  the  House  of  Dread. 


47 


KINDRED 

Musing,  between  the  sunset  and  the  dark, 
As  Twilight  in  unhesitating  hands 
Bore  from  the  faint  horizon's  underlands, 
Silvern  and  chill,  the  moon's  phantasmal  ark, 
I  heard  the  sea,  and  far  away  could  mark 
Where  that  unalterable  waste  expands 
In  sevenfold  sapphire  from  the  mournful  sands, 
And  saw  beyond  the  deep  a  vibrant  spark. 

There  sank  the  sun  Arcturus,  and  I  thought: 
Star,  by  an  ocean  on  a  world  of  thine, 
May  not  a  being,  born,  like  me,  to  die, 
Confront  a  little  the  eternal  Naught 
And  watch  our  isolated  sun  decline— 
Sad  for  his  evanescence,  even  as  I? 


48 


OMNIA  EXEUNT  IN  MYSTERIUM 
I  /  II '  m 


I 


The  stranger  in  my  gates— lo!  that  am  I, 
And  what  my  land  of  birth  I  do  not  know, 
Nor  yet  the  hidden  land  to  which  I  go. 
One  may  be  lord  of  many  ere  he  die, 
And  tell  of  many  sorrows  in  one  sigh, 
But  know  himself  he  shall  not,  nor  his  woe, 
Nor  to  what  sea  the  tears  of  wisdom  flow, 

Nor  why  one  star  is  taken  from  the  sky. 

« 

An  urging  is  upon  him  evermore, 

And  tho  he  bide,  his  soul  is  wanderer, 

Scanning  the  shadows  with  a  sense  of  haste 

Where  fade  the  tracks  of  all  who  went  before 

A  dim  and  solitary  traveller 

On  ways  that  end  in  evening  and  the  waste. 


II 

How  dumb  the  vanished  billions  who  have  died ! 

With  backward  gase  conjectural  we  wait, 

And  ere  the  invading  Shadow  penetrate, 

The  echo  from  a  mighty  heart  that  cried 

Is  made  a  soul  memorial  to  pride. 

From  out  that  night's  inscrutable  estate 

A  few  cold  voices  wander,  desolate 

With  all  that  love  has  lost  or  grief  has  sighed. 

r 

Slaves,  seamen,  captains,  councillors  and  kings, 
Gone  utterly,  save  for  those  echoes  far! 
As  they  before,  I  tread  a  forfeit  land, 
Till  the  supreme  and  ancient  silence  flings 
Its  pall  between  the  dreamer  and  the  star. 
O  desert  wide!  O  little  grain  of  sand ! 


Ill 

As  one  that  knew  not  of  the  sea  might  come 
From  slender  sources  of  a  mountain  stream, 
And,  wending  where  the  sandy  shallows  gleam 
And  boulder'Strewn  the  stumbling  waters  hum 
And  white  with  haste  the  falling  torrents  drum, 
Might  stand  in  darkness  at  the  land's  extreme 
And  stare  in  doubt,  where,  ghostly  and  supreme, 
Muffled  in  mist  and  night,  the  sea  lay  dumb,— 

So  shalt  thou  follow  life,  a  downward  rill 
A'babble  as  with  question  and  surmise, 
To  wait  at  last  where  no  star  beaconeth, 
And  find  the  midnight  desolate  and  chill, 
And  face  below  its  indecisive  skies 
The  Consummation,  mystery  and  death. 


TO  LIFE 

Witch  and  enchantress,  I  have  watched  you  feed 
Your  children  from  your  cup  of  poison  brew; 
Subtly  you  mix  the  venom  and  the  dew, 
That,  drunken,  all  may  follow  where  you  lead, 
Thinking  a  far  mirage  their  nearer  need, 
Whose  phantom  gardens  brighten  on  the  view, 
Where  compensating  waters  may  renew 
The  hearts  that  thirst,  the  failing  feet  that  bleed. 

Such  is  the  power  of  your  deluding  wine 

I  dream  I  know  its  magic  and  design, 

Saying,  "So  far,  no  farther,  will  I  sip, 

Ere  the  draft  grow  too  bitter."  Shall  there  be 

But  deepening  illusion  for  the  lip, 

And  in  the  dregs  a  mightier  sorcery? 


54 


THREE  HUNDRED  COPIES  OF  THIS 
BOOK  HAVE  BEEN  PRINTED  FOR 
THE  BOOK  CLUB  OF  CALIFORNIA 
BY  TAYLOR  6?  TAYLOR,  SAN  FRAN- 
CISCO. THE  DECORATIONS  ARE  BY 
FREDERIC  W.  GOUDY,  NEW  YORK 
JUNE  MDCCCCXVII 
Dumber 


